


obscure future

by nightcafe



Series: obscure future [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Insomnia, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Realism, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Pining, Psychic Abilities, Supernatural Elements, Symbolism, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, a lot of metaphors, attempt at linear order, but with flashbacks, it's kinda non-linear, the bitterness of life, they're just. soft, wonwoo's internal struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23515660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcafe/pseuds/nightcafe
Summary: When Wonwoo dreams, he sees everything.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Series: obscure future [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093427
Comments: 16
Kudos: 88





	obscure future

**Author's Note:**

> this took just over a month to write and honestly, this took so much out of me, it's ridiculous. this was _stressful_. but, for once, the story turned out surprisingly similar to how i see it in my mind, which has given me a strange sense of pride with this one.
> 
> do forgive any mistakes and please overlook the fact that i have the vocabulary of a peanut . words are the bane of my existence
> 
> title taken from svt's fallin' flower. hehe.. if u haven't already, stream fallin' flower!!!

_"The seed of suffering in you may be strong,_

_but don't wait until you have no more suffering_

_before allowing yourself to be happy." — Thich Nhat Hanh._

  
  
  
  
  


|🌃||🌃||🌃|

  
  
  
  


"You're still not sleeping," Junhui points out, sliding into the seat across the table from Wonwoo. Junhui places two glasses down on the table, sliding one across the surface to him.

Wonwoo reaches for his drink, rolling his eyes. "Is it that obvious?" He fixes Junhui with a sharp gaze, holding the glass to his lips for a few seconds longer than he needs to. Junhui just watches him with an air of nonchalance.

Junhui hums, sitting back more comfortably. "I think we should go see Minghao," he pauses to down some of his drink. Wonwoo watches him, waiting with curiosity in his eyes. "He might be able to help you with that."

"How would Minghao be able to help?" Wonwoo slides further down in his seat, peering up at Junhui as he speaks. "There isn't much he's going to be capable of doing."

Junhui places his drink back onto the table, condensation from the glass forming a circle of water on the polished wooden surface. "He can do more for you than you can do for yourself." He pauses, meeting Wonwoo's eyes, his gaze is intense, unwavering and Wonwoo feels something stir inside him. "Or, he can prompt you to do what you're more than capable of doing, but just choosing not to do." Junhui continues to stare him down and Wonwoo draws a deep breath. He won't cower under Junhui's gaze.

Junhui sighs, his expression softening. He drops his head, eyes leaving Wonwoo's and Wonwoo feels like he can finally breathe again. Junhui continues, "I don't understand why you make yourself suffer the way you do."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. "You think I want to see the things I do?"

Junhui shakes his head, brown hair falling over his eyes. He suits it this colour, Wonwoo thinks. "That's not what I mean," Junhui hesitates for an instant. "There are things you could do to help you look past all those things. Plus, you're not doing yourself any favours by not sleeping."

Wonwoo grunts, rolling his eyes. "I'm doing myself more favours than you know."

When Junhui doesn't reply, Wonwoo grows anxious. That feeling is back again: something stirring inside him, prickling and twisting in his gut. He spares a short glance in Junhui's direction, catching the older boy bathed in purple light as he stares out over the rest of the club. Wonwoo figures he's probably staring off into space, not quite thinking or feeling, but rather just existing.

Often, Wonwoo wishes for a similar thing. He spends his sleepless nights praying for physicality of the conscious mind. To hold it in his hands means to control it, granting him the exemption from the trepidation he's been endlessly longing to escape in the nights.

"I think we should get going soon," Junhui huffs out, pulling Wonwoo from his thoughts. Junhui stretches his arms over his head, his spine curving inwards and a sliver of skin is exposed as his shirt comes untucked from his jeans. Wonwoo sucks in a breath, peeling his eyes away from the fleck of tanned skin so vigorously he feels a faint ache begin to bloom behind his eyes.

Junhui sighs, sitting straight and rolling his shoulders back. "Well? Ready to go?"

Wonwoo nods, sliding out of his seat without sparing a second glance in Junhui's direction. He doesn't want to see his face — all sparkling eyes and drowned in purple strobe lights, the sheen of sweat over his skin glistening in the colour. And what he especially doesn't want to do is turn around to check if that tiny inch of skin is still visible above Junhui's belt.

He feels an arm snake its way around his shoulders and soon, Junhui's head is resting against his. He can feel Junhui's earring swing as he walks, the silver chains grazing over Wonwoo's shoulder every couple of steps. The proximity makes Wonwoo shiver. 

"Let's go home," Junhui says and Wonwoo doesn't have to look at him to know that gentle smile is on his face.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Despite his conversation with Junhui a few days ago, Wonwoo is still awake.

He eyes the clock hanging on the wall, seeing it's nearing 2AM. He groans in frustration, head falling forward and meeting the cool surface of the breakfast bar. There's a window open somewhere, the nighttime breeze flowing in and chilling the whole apartment. He makes no move to close it. The cold helps him stay awake, the goosebumps littering his arms tether him to consciousness and the shivering of his body helps keep him alert.

He wraps his hands around the mug sitting in front of him, the ceramic cold against his palms like the surface of the counter pressed to his cheek. The liquid has long since cooled, the scent of coffee only faintly lingering in the air. He can also smell the plants by the window, the lavender Junhui had insisted on setting out around his apartment.

He'd said it has "properties", and Wonwoo is never one to argue with Junhui's word — even if he knows those properties are related to helping him sleep, which is the last thing he wants to do. But alas, he's too weak for his best friend to ever go against anything he says. So, he goes out of his way to keep the plants alive, even if he swears they make him feel worse off, purely because he knows it'll put Junhui's mind at ease.

Wonwoo lifts his eyes to the window, admiring the dark sky on the other side of the glass panes. It's an immensely deep shade of blue, inching towards black, and there are tiny flickers of white light scattered around, adorning the darkness. It would make a good painting, Wonwoo thinks. Or a good picture, if his legs were strong enough to carry him to go pick up his camera.

Though, he finds no lens can ever truly do justice to beautiful things. Things like the sky, blossoming flowers, the streets covered in snow, or the familiar silhouette of a boy standing out against the setting of the sun.

When Wonwoo looks back up to check the time again, he finds it's hit two o'clock. Time seems to move differently beneath the shadows of night. The clocks seem to tick slower, minutes feel like hours and you turn to find the clock-hands have only moved a fraction of an inch when it feels like days could have passed. Wonwoo lets out a defeated groan, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath. He feels the cold air circulate in his lungs, tastes the scent of lavender and coffee and the night air in his throat.

He cracks his eyes open, having to fight against his body to pry the lids up. His body wants to sleep, but his mind is telling him no, it's not safe, _you'll regret it_. So, he focuses on the things around him. He stares at the puddle of moonlight spilling onto the kitchen floor; listens to the faint lull of the movie playing quietly on the TV in the living room; smells the plants and the cold contents of the mug still wrapped up in his hands; feels the night breeze on his bare skin.

But it's not enough. He's too worn out, too rundown and feeble to do anything else. He feels his eyes slip shut and he reaches for himself with brittle fingers, slipping through the cracks in the pale skin. He's too late to catch himself from falling.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


When Wonwoo dreams, he sees everything.

It started when he was little, maybe around eight years old. He would fall asleep to the sound of his mother's voice, lulling him to sleep, singing soft lullabies in his ear, or the sound of his father reading him a story. He would see valleys of lush green grass and flowers in full bloom. He would feel the breeze on his face as he ran forth, exploring unknown lands and revelling in the feeling of not being under his parents' watchful eye. It always felt so real, and he would often question his mother on when they could next visit the fields, to which his mother would only hum and tell him "someday, Wonwoo."

She never knew what he was talking about, and Wonwoo didn't much care to explain: he only cared about feeling that breeze against his skin and the touch of soft petals beneath his fingertips.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Wonwoo wakes to the sound of rain tapping delicately against the window, like fingertips dancing along the glass; peaceful jazz lulling faintly from somewhere behind him. The atmosphere in his apartment is a stark contrast to that which he just stepped out of, a thought which makes his head spin and his stomach turn nauseatingly.

He runs his palms over his face, his skin clammy and he grimaces. Sighing, he pushes himself to his feet, feeling his back muscles ache as he straightens up. It's only then that he realises there's a blanket draped over his shoulders. The material bunches up at his back and falls to the ground. Wonwoo pushes himself to his feet, wincing at the feeling of the freezing surface of the floorboards against his skin.

He takes a few seconds to study his surroundings: the window that was previously open is now closed, sealed tight and locking the cold air outside. In the living room, the television is no longer on, the forgotten movie no longer playing quietly as background noise. Instead, the little radio in the corner is switched on, a calming stream of jazz flowing from its speakers. He switches it off, turns on the TV and flips through until he finds the news channels.

He plops himself down on the sofa, watching intently as the reporter on the screen rhymes off the newest updates about some member of the government that most likely nobody has ever heard of or cared about. He doesn't know if what she's saying is true, but this particular reporter he recognises, and she tends to get her stories a little bit shaky: never enough information, or not the correct facts.

"You're up early," Wonwoo is caught off-guard by the voice, whipping his head around to see Junhui standing in the doorway of the bedroom. He rests against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He looks tired, hair messy and his complexion paler than it should be.

He must've come by after Wonwoo had fallen asleep. He has a spare key, anyway. It's not the first time Wonwoo's fallen asleep in the kitchen or on the sofa and woken up to find Junhui had arrived in the middle of the night. Wonwoo's bed is accustomed to Junhui's scent by now. The thought makes his mouth run dry.

Wonwoo hums, "Not as early as usual."

Junhui laughs, but it's only moderately genuine. It's not far off it, Wonwoo notes, but it's definitely not quite there yet. "You have no right to say that, you usually don't sleep at all." He points out, trudging across the room, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet, stopping to stand beside the sofa.

"What was it this time?" Junhui asks cautiously. His voice is mellow, not prompting, not pushy, just a gentle coax, a warm palm outstretched for Wonwoo to take and hold onto.

He wants to reach out and take that hand in his, but Junhui feels all too far away and Wonwoo's mind is too disconnected from his soul, and he's at far too high a risk of slipping.

"Bar fight," Wonwoo replies, his hands turning uncomfortably on his lap. He trains his eyes on the TV, listening attentively to the words coming out of the reporter's mouth.

Junhui hums pleasantly, "That's not so bad."

"Somebody died," Wonwoo says, despondent. Junhui purses his lips. Sure enough, the reporter starts up with the story of the fight broken out at one of the bars in the centre of the city in the middle of the night. A man had taken a fist to the face and had fallen to the floor, cracking his skull on the edge of the bar as he fell. In his intoxicated state, he hadn't noticed the blood, nor had anybody else. He was dead within hours, and Wonwoo watched it all play out before him.

Junhui digs his teeth into his bottom lip, snatching the remote off the coffee table and switching the TV off. Wonwoo is left staring out at his own reflection in the screen, eyes empty and sunken in their sockets.

"Get changed," Junhui calls, disappearing down the hallway.

Wonwoo takes another few seconds to gather his thoughts back to himself, scattered aimlessly around his mind. "Where are we going?" He asks, voice fading with each word, the inviting embrace of unconsciousness trying to pull him back under. He shakes his head, pinches himself on the arm. _Stay awake, Wonwoo_.

"Out," is all the reply he gets.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, huffing to himself. Nonetheless, he pushes himself to his feet, trudging over to his bedroom. As per usual with Junhui, he guesses he'll just have to find out when he gets there.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Wonwoo cracks the car window open, feeling the cool breeze hit his face as it rushes in through the opened slit. He crosses his arms over his chest, pulling his jacket tighter around his body. He's wearing one of Junhui's old bomber jackets that was lent to him months ago. He forgot he had it, and if Junhui has remembered, he's never asked for it back.

"Where are we going?" Wonwoo asks, shimmying in his seat as he tries to get more comfortable. Junhui must see him out the corner of his eye, because he laughs, eyes still trained on the road.

"To visit Minghao," Junhui answers, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they stop at a red light. Wonwoo watches, strangely entranced, as Junhui's fingers dance across the surface, tapping a familiar tune out into the air. The radio isn't on, Wonwoo realises. Junhui almost always has the radio on.

Wonwoo reaches for the button to turn it on, but Junhui stops him, reaching out and seizing his wrist. Wonwoo freezes just like that, a current of electricity shooting through him where Junhui's skin touches his. After a second, Junhui lets go of his arm, settling back in his seat. Wonwoo watches with leery eyes, desperately trying to ignore the burning sensation he feels where his friend's hand was and the heat prickling as it creeps up his neck.

"I want to talk to you," Junhui says slowly, as though weighing out his words before dropping them into the atmosphere. "I feel like we haven't had a chance to talk through things recently, and I'd rather do that now before I throw you off to Minghao." He pauses, drawing a breath after rushing the previous sentence out. A small smile spreads over his lips. "So, just leave the music off."

Wonwoo nods, "Okay."

Junhui sighs, turning his head to meet Wonwoo's eyes. Junhui's gaze is steady, Wonwoo feels like a shaking mess under his eyes. Junhui shakes his head, turning back to the road. "How have you been feeling recently?" The car starts moving again, but Junhui spares a brief glance in his direction, warning, "And don't say fine, that's bullshit." He settles more comfortably into the driver's seat. "You haven't slept in about a month."

"I slept last night," Wonwoo points out.

"You've _barely_ slept in a month," Junhui grits out, clearly unamused. "And the circles under your eyes are looking more and more purple by the day. Eventually, they're going to end up the same shade Soonyoung's hair was a few months ago."

Wonwoo laughs brightly, a warm sound that tugs at the corners of Junhui's mouth. "Maybe that's what I'm aiming for," Wonwoo sighs, happiness bubbling mildly in his stomach. It feels nice to be able to laugh about these things, he thinks. Especially with Junhui. "But to answer your question, I'm doing better than I was a few weeks ago. The dreams haven't been as bad recently. Less graphic, not as loud, a lot less blinding, I guess."

Junhui hums, nodding in understanding. "That's good to hear." Wonwoo hums in acknowledgement. Junhui continues, "I think Minghao can give you a hand with this." He pauses, waiting for a reply which doesn't come. "He's good at dealing with this stuff, you know."

Wonwoo thinks about it for a moment, "What's he supposed to do to help, without knowing the full story, though?"

"He can help," Junhui states firmly. "He doesn't need to know everything, anyway. As long as you give him something basic, he can work with that."

"And what am I supposed to tell him, if not the truth?"

"If Minghao asks," Junhui pauses, "just tell him, like," he glances over at Wonwoo, shrugging, "I don't know, night terrors or something."

"Horrible nightmares."

"Exactly."

Wonwoo sighs, tapping his fingers against the window absentmindedly. "Don't night terrors only happen to kids?"

Junhui waves him off, "I don't know, maybe?" He shakes his head, "Regardless of who night terrors do or do not affect," Wonwoo snickers, "Minghao doesn't need to know the whole story. As long as you give him something _similar_ to work with, you should be fine."

Wonwoo hums, and the conversation falls away for the rest of the drive.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Sitting in Minghao's apartment, the first thing Wonwoo notices is the strong scent of herbal tea wafting through from the kitchen. He's sitting on the sofa, legs tucked beneath himself, watching Minghao as he busies around the room. Wonwoo admires the photographs hung upon the walls, white frames against white walls, each telling a different story — various memories playing out like scenes from a movie, past thoughts and feelings long forgotten, concealed only in the ocean waves lapping at Minghao's ankles, a singular moment forever frozen in time.

Wonwoo turns back to look at Junhui, who is standing casually by the door, watching him in return. There's a silent plead in Wonwoo's eyes. He doesn't want to be here in general, never mind left _alone_ with Xu Minghao. Ever since the day they met, Wonwoo's found himself a little intimidated by him. Wonwoo holds Junhui's gaze, eyes wide and begging Junhui not to leave. But Junhui just smiles, straightening his posture and inching his way towards the door.

"You're welcome to stay, you know." Minghao joins Wonwoo in the living room, plopping himself down on the chair opposite him. Minghao eyes Junhui questioningly, "Got somewhere to be?"

Wonwoo hears Junhui huff out a laugh and a tiny bubble of hope forms in his stomach.

"I do, actually." _Oh_ , there goes his bubble.

Minghao hums, giving a little nod. "Suit yourself."

Wonwoo turns again to shoot daggers in Junhui's direction. The Chinese boy just smiles sweetly, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. He shrugs coolly before turning to leave. Wonwoo exhales through his nose, lips pursed in annoyance. He closes his eyes, draws a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders. He could just get up and leave, follow Junhui back to his car and spend the rest of the day with him. Alternatively, he could just stick it out and hear what Minghao has to say before inevitably deciding to ignore every piece of advice that leaves his mouth.

He settles for the latter. He can push through this — if not for himself, then at least to see Junhui's pleased smile once they're done.

Minghao clears his throat, settling down more comfortably in his chair. Wonwoo glances in his direction, catching Minghao's gaze and for once, Wonwoo notes, he feels a bit less scared of him. Minghao's eyes seem softer now than he's ever seen them before and he has to wonder if Minghao's boyfriend has anything to do with it.

He saw them in his dreams once. A few years into the future, and they're in Paris. Minghao's hair is black, slightly overgrown, and Wonwoo had noticed a small tattoo on his wrist — something that isn't there presently. He'd watched as Mingyu got down on one knee and tears spilled from Minghao's eyes, a river flowing down his face. It had felt invasive, and Wonwoo had looked away, turned to face the opposite direction and let them have their moment. He knows he won't be there when the actual thing happens, but he wants to let them keep this between them.

Ever since getting together with Mingyu, Minghao's seemed much more at ease, breezing through life in a much more relaxed state than even Junhui had ever seen him before. It makes Wonwoo feel warm inside to know they stay together far into the future.

He's dragged back to earth by the sound of Minghao clearing his throat again, much louder and clearly with more intent this time. "Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo hums, shaking himself from his thoughts. Minghao sighs, repeating, "Junhui says you haven't been sleeping." He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over himself. "Do you know why?"

Wonwoo thinks back to their conversation in the car. _Night terrors_ , Junhui had said. Not quite. "Nightmares," Wonwoo replies simply, to which Minghao just nods.

"Have you tried anything to help? Changing your sleeping conditions, different types of teas, certain plants or smells, etcetera?" Minghao inquires, pushing himself to his feet and wandering through into the kitchen. Wonwoo makes no move to follow.

"I have some lavender plants in the kitchen," he calls through to Minghao, who is now seemingly digging through his cupboards looking for something. "Junhui bought them for me."

"That's because Junhui cares about you," is what he gets in reply. He hears more rustling, some clattering and clanging, followed by a wince of pain. From the way Minghao joins him in the living room again, a hand rubbing gently on the crown of his head, Wonwoo can take a pretty good guess at what happened.

Next thing he knows, there's a small box being held out in front of his face. He takes it from Minghao's hand, turning it over to study it carefully. The writing is tiny and he isn't wearing his glasses.

"Lavender tea," Minghao informs him. "Helps you fall asleep, plus it smells and tastes really good too."

Wonwoo snorts, "Thanks."

Minghao gives a tight-lipped smile, "Don't mention it." He slips back into the seat he was in previously. "Do you know what's causing these nightmares?"

Wonwoo pauses, his thoughts grinding to a halt. What causes these nightmares that don't even really exist? Good question. Maybe he should've conjured up his immaculate excuse in the car on the way here. Too late now, he figures.

Rather than trying to pull a somewhat believable excuse out of thin air, he opts for stammering out something about his mother and Minghao falls quiet. When their eyes meet, Wonwoo notices how Minghao purses his lips, visibly turning over everything in his mind in search of some form of reply.

"I— Uhm, sorry." Wonwoo mumbles, eyes downcast and he subconsciously starts to fidget with his fingers, hands clasped behind his back.

Minghao clears his throat, "It's okay. No need for apologies." He waves a hand dismissively. Wonwoo knows there are words hanging on the tip of Minghao's tongue, but he's holding back from saying them, biting them back and swallowing them down before they manage to creep their way out.

"Honestly," Minghao breaks the silence that's fallen over them, "there isn't much else I can do."

Wonwoo nods, "I know. Junhui suggested I come see you anyway."

Minghao hums, "He would." He starts to drum his fingers on the arm of the chair, Wonwoo notices. "Junhui cares a lot about you, you know." Minghao nods, "Just... take care of yourself. For his sake, if not your own."

Wonwoo and Minghao have never been close. They've never gone out of their way for each other, but Wonwoo notes something unusual: for someone who hardly knows him, Minghao is eerily good at reading him. It's credible Junhui has been feeding him information behind Wonwoo's back, but he's not so sure. Junhui has never been that way inclined.

Wonwoo smiles, a genuine gesture. "Thank you for this."

Minghao returns his smile, his a little more on-edge. Wonwoo wants to know why. He doesn't ask.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Wonwoo remembers the night vivid as the moment it happened — as though the events took place only seconds before.

He remembers the blinding lights racing by, a storm of colour and he was trapped in the middle of it. He remembers the smell of burning rubber and the sound of tyres screeching, marks burned into the road. He remembers the crash, the sound that sent shivers shooting up his spine, beetles crawling beneath his skin and his ears started ringing out in one long, extended note. The sound still haunts him, calling out to him in the darkness of night.

Six years ago, Wonwoo watched his mother die. It felt like a horror movie playing out in front of him, and he was forced to sit and watch, unable to do anything to help. It was then that he learned: nobody can change fate's path.

He watched as the two cars collided, flames shooting from the mess of metal and glass in the middle of the road. People began flooding the street, phone calls were being made as people rushed to help those involved. Wonwoo found himself paralysed, the smell of smoke surrounding him and clogging his lungs, making it hard to breathe. As the emergency services arrived and he watched her body being pulled from the wreck, everything began to fade away. The voices moving around him steadily grew faint, quiet, and the crackling of burning flames was drowned out in the back of his mind.

He blacked out.

He woke seconds later to the sound of his own screaming, his throat raw and sore. He was soaked in sweat and shaking like a leaf. His skin was pale, drained of all colour and his hands were freezing. He remembers the tears that were streaming down his face and the feeling of still being paralysed with fear. He could still taste the thick smoke in the back of his throat.

Wonwoo was eighteen when he found out his mother had passed, hours before the rest of the waking world.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


"So, what did Minghao say?" Junhui asks.

They're at the top of a hill, lying on their backs on a blanket they spread over the grass. It's getting late, the sky beginning to lose all traces of blue still lingering around the edges. They watched the sun set together, admired the sky as the yellow of the sun drained out and was replaced with the black of night.

"Nothing of interest," Wonwoo replies. "There isn't much he could've said."

Junhui hums, "At least you went to see him."

It was pointless, Wonwoo thinks. He got nothing if not a box of lavender tea out of the exchange. The thought makes him laugh.

Junhui turns his head, glances in his direction. "What're you laughing at?"

Wonwoo notes the strange softness in his tone. Instead of the usual rough edge to his voice, it's laced with something much more silky, his words rolling off his tongue in a way Wonwoo has never heard before. It's odd — different, but he kind of likes it.

"Just the thought of today," Wonwoo smiles. "I went for life advice and left with a box of tea."

Junhui laughs too, rolling back over to face the sky. Wonwoo watches as his chest shakes with the force of his laughter, something so enticing about the action. He studies Junhui's face: the way his eyes curve alongside his lips, the way he scrunches up his nose without even realising he's doing it. It's then that Wonwoo realises just how endearing Wen Junhui really is.

Wonwoo finds himself taken back to that night in the bar. Seeing Junhui's skin doused in purple light as that smile curved on his lips, an image embedded on the backs of Wonwoo's eyelids. He's reminded of that moment now, as he stares at Junhui beneath the moonlight, his lips curved elegantly into the most dazzling smile Wonwoo has ever seen.

It makes something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. Something in the back of his mind starts screaming at him, urging him to do something that only a fool would ever do. Wonwoo never listens to that voice, learned to push it back into its box, lock it tight and throw away the key. But it breaks out sometimes. So do his feelings. He tries to keep them sealed away too.

"I can feel your thoughts," Junhui murmurs, and what a Junhui thing to say. Wonwoo finds himself smiling involuntarily. Now his feelings are pushing him, instead of vice versa, escaped from their containment and they're beginning to slowly flood his mind.

This isn't what he wants.

That's what he's always been telling himself, anyway. His dreams, however, may seem to think differently.

"You can't feel anything," Wonwoo lies flat and stares up at the sky, tries to take his mind off the feelings rushing through him, the electricity beginning to spark at his fingertips and the building feeling of his pulse thudding in his wrists.

"Oh," Junhui tuts, "I can feel everything." Out of Wonwoo's periphery, he can see Junhui turn towards him. "And I can feel that you're hiding something from me. It's practically radiating off of you right now."

Wonwoo doesn't dare say a word. He keeps his lips pursed tightly shut, focuses his eyes on the stars and begins to count them one by one, a distraction if nothing else. But Junhui is persistent, and Wonwoo has seen this before, dreamed about this exact moment and he feels his head start to spin, a heavy sense of dread settling in his stomach.

"You can talk to me, you know." There's a hand on Wonwoo's arm now, a touch so light he wonders if it's even there at all. Perhaps he's dreaming right now, and that softness in Junhui's voice is all just a phantom from Wonwoo's mind. Maybe he has nothing to be afraid of.

But Junhui's hand is definitely there and the heat radiating from beside Wonwoo is absolutely coming from another person. This isn't his imagination and Wonwoo remembers it from a dream, so clearly it may have been only yesterday.

Wonwoo sucks in a deep breath, cold air seeping through broken lungs and chilling the area on the left side of his chest.

"I'm not hiding anything from you."

He knows Junhui can read him like a book, knows he's aware he's lying through gritted teeth. But Junhui doesn't say a word. He opens his mouth and Wonwoo can almost see the words as they claw their way up Junhui's throat. But he simply closes his mouth again, seals it shut like Wonwoo has his own.

Junhui nods, "Okay."

It's short, firm and simple but it makes Wonwoo's stomach drop in an instant. Everything was building up to this — a band pulled too hard, readying to snap; a flower left out in the rain and its petals are soaked, its roots overwatered and they're left to sit and watch it die.

Wonwoo watches Junhui stand, dust himself off and pause. He takes one last look at the sky, and the moonlight highlights the now glossy sheen of tears welling in his eyes. Wonwoo wants to reach out for him, stop him from leaving, but he's beaten his emotions back into submission and any words that were trying to get out are swallowed back down before they get a chance to break the surface.

Junhui looks at him, a fleeting second where their gazes meet and Wonwoo feels that chill in his heart root itself even deeper inside of him: a stabbing pain blooming in his chest. Wonwoo blinks and Junhui is gone, leaving him alone with the moon on the top of the hill.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Wonwoo hasn't seen Junhui for five days now and there's a constant weight in the back of his mind and a feeling of guilt eating away at him.

Since Junhui disappeared from the hill the other night, Wonwoo has heard no word from him. It's not like he should expect much anyway, it was clear he hurt Junhui's feelings. But still, he's spent the last five days replaying their conversation in his mind, drawing comparisons between the scenario he saw in his dreams versus the real thing. Everything was the same, except in the dream he wasn't able to contain himself: in his dreams, everything came spilling out of him and the truth hung in the night air, heavy and deafening, yet so, so silent.

When it had come down to those few seconds, Wonwoo had remembered what happened in the dream and somehow managed to rewrite fate, sent it down a different path. Though now, he's not so sure the decision he made was a positive one. Now, he's lacking the second presence in his apartment, the random drop-ins that were never invited but certainly never unwelcome. He misses the sound of Junhui's footsteps on the floorboards, creaking gently beneath his feet as he moved through the night, usually convinced Wonwoo was asleep.

He's beginning to regret getting in fate's way.

Wonwoo misses having his lifeline around to keep him going; his anchor to keep him tied down; his gravity to keep him grounded. Junhui is the only person who knows about the dreams, the only person Wonwoo has ever trusted enough to open himself up to. Junhui helped ease him out of his shell, opened him up slowly but surely, took him apart and put him back together again after studying each puzzle piece with more care than Wonwoo knew to exist in any other person he'd ever met.

Wonwoo sighs, pushing his empty mug to the other side of the table. He didn't even have anything in it, having been sidetracked with thoughts of his best friend for the nth time since he last saw him. It's all too strange to him, not having Junhui around. They've been practically stitched side-by-side for the past six years, so suddenly not having Junhui buzzing around and pestering him is a tough pill to swallow: one that gets wedged in his throat and makes it hard to breathe.

Wonwoo eyes the plants on his windowsill. The little pots of lavender are sitting comfortably, but he notices some of them are beginning to wither. He hasn't watered them — that's usually Junhui's job, or Junhui will remind him to water them. But Junhui isn't here to remind him, and so the poor things are beginning to die.

Wonwoo grits his teeth, internally debating within himself on whether he should water them or not. He does find they help lull him to sleep, which is what he doesn't want. But, they were bought for him by Junhui. They remind him of Junhui, a significance placed on an object of no significance whatsoever. The flowers themselves are of no importance to him, but it's who gifted them to him that matters.

If Junhui were here, Wonwoo would water the plants purely to keep Junhui happy. But Junhui isn't here, so Wonwoo is left with the little pots of lavender as his placeholder. If he can't have Junhui here with him, he can at least have something that reminds him of him, even if they do help send him off to sleep at night.

He fills a small glass and carefully waters the plants, cautious not to over or under water them. He's never had much of a green thumb, but he's stood back and watched Junhui water plants plenty of times, enough to have a rough idea of what he's doing.

The first time Junhui ever brought him flowers was just after Wonwoo's mother's passing. Junhui is the one who had come to check on him, found him frail and weak and made it his job to pick Wonwoo up and get him back on his feet again. He'd offered a hand to guide Wonwoo out of the dark tunnel he'd found himself lost in, brought Wonwoo back into the world he'd tried to shut himself off from.

Wonwoo felt he had been left with no choice but to explain the dreams to Junhui. Instead of the confusion and twisted expressions of horror Wonwoo had been expecting, Junhui had sat and listened, been patient with him, and simply reassured him that no matter what, he'd always be here.

That had left Wonwoo waist-deep in a river of emotions he hadn't ever felt before. He was so used to being forgotten by the world, backs turned on him and feelings irrelevant. But then he found Junhui — all toothy smiles and welcoming eyes — and he'd become the only thing that really mattered in Wonwoo's world.

Though Wonwoo has never told him that.

Wonwoo places the empty glass in the sink, making his way through to the living room and turning on the radio. It turns onto the channel Junhui had set it to when he'd come over last week, calming jazz playing softly from its speakers.

Wonwoo flops down on the sofa, eyes closed as he massages his temples. He's got nothing much to do, because he doesn't have his partner-in-crime here to keep him occupied. It's only now, spending his days without the other's presence, that he realises just how big a part Junhui plays in his life.

And now he's beginning to accept that maybe, just maybe, Junhui _is_ his life, rather than just a part of it.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


A week had passed since Wonwoo watched his mother die. He'd hardly moved, hardly eaten and he'd reached a point where he could barely remember what fresh air tasted like. He wasn't intending on moving anytime soon. What point was there in continuing, when he'd just sat and watched someone he loved most in the world die, without being able to do a single thing to help?

Maybe he could have saved her, but he didn't even try.

Upon waking up, he'd locked himself away, swam into the middle of his lake of thoughts and left himself to drown in his own guilt and self-hatred. He just didn't see the point anymore, when he couldn't save one of the few people he really cared about in the world, and the scene replayed in his mind every time he closed his eyes.

It was that night that he heard a knock on his door, chose to ignore it and simply resume wallowing in the depths of his remorse. But the knocking persisted, and Wonwoo grew more and more agitated the longer it continued. But again, he tuned the sound out and let his thoughts run away from him. That was until the handle of his bedroom door began moving and he sat up instinctively, a wave of anxiety crashing over him.

The door opened and he saw Junhui, standing with a bouquet of roses in his hand. The flowers ranged in colour, different coloured petals holding a variety of meanings. Wonwoo had watched as Junhui placed them down on the coffee table, delicate as not to harm them.

"Wonwoo..."

Junhui's voice was soft: a cushion for Wonwoo to land on after falling down that dark hole swallowing up his mind.

Wonwoo didn't reply, didn't make any sort of move. He just stood and stared, and soon Junhui's arms were wrapping around him, pulling him in closer until Wonwoo was pressed to Junhui's front, warmth coursing through him where their bodies met. He broke down on Junhui's shoulder, sobs racking through him as Junhui held him tightly. Wonwoo felt so open, so raw in Junhui's arms, but Junhui's soothing shushes and soft humming had pulled him through, lulled him into the cushioned security he so desperately needed.

After a few days had passed, Wonwoo had sat down with Junhui and told him about the dreams. He explained some in depth, watching as concern grew on Junhui's face with every morbid detail he laid down in front of him. He'd finished on a shaky note, tears blurring his vision and a growing tremor in his hands. Junhui had leaned across the table and taken hold of them, squeezed them tightly in his.

He told him it was okay, he had nothing to be afraid of, and that he was safe. But Wonwoo didn't feel safe, he had reason to be afraid and no, it definitely wasn't okay. But there was something about the way Junhui said it, something about the feeling of their hands pressed together and the weight in Junhui's eyes when he looked at him.

For the first time since his dreams began to run hysterical, Wonwoo felt human again.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


After spending an hour pacing his apartment, while in deep internal debate with himself, Wonwoo finds himself standing on the doorstep of Minghao's apartment.

If the circumstances had been different, he wouldn't be here. But Wonwoo saw them, in his dreams last night: Junhui was laying by his side, the both of them in Wonwoo's bed, watching through blinds they'd forgotten to close as the sun came up. Junhui had turned towards him, his smile brighter than the sun shining from behind his head, something so peaceful and fond swimming around in his eyes and it had given Wonwoo shivers. He'd woken with a gasp, his arms littered with goosebumps and he'd accidentally rolled off the sofa with how frantically he'd tried to throw himself to his feet.

Truth is, Wonwoo sucks ass when it comes to feelings. He doesn't understand emotions more complex than that a five year old can describe: happy, sad, bored, and the likes. It's not that he doesn't feel — it's just that he refuses to acknowledge those feelings if he knows they could have consequences too great for him to turn and run from.

So, Wonwoo keeps his emotions locked in a box, hidden in the depths of his mind where he doesn't have to see it or worry about it. But sometimes the hinges of the box come loose, or feelings manage to slip their way out of the cracks in the lid. That's what happened on the top of the hill and that's what happened again last night.

The one thing he's spent the last few years running from is starting to catch up to him and he thinks that, maybe, he doesn't have a choice but to start letting the pieces fall into place. He can't keep running forever and he can't avoid this forbidden feeling for the rest of his life.

He knocks Minghao's door and it isn't long before the younger boy opens it, a small frown tugging downwards on his lips.

"I knew something was up."

Wonwoo looks at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Minghao eyes him carefully, turning and leading him through to the living room. Wonwoo sits down where he was last week, and Minghao goes through to the kitchen, returning a few seconds later to ask Wonwoo if he wants anything to drink.

"I got a strange feeling a few nights ago, something off-balance in the universe." He shifts between the cupboards, retrieving two glasses as he continues talking, his back turned to Wonwoo the entire time. "Figured it was something to do with you." He spares Wonwoo a glance over his shoulder. "What happened between you two?"

Wonwoo hesitates for a few seconds, "How did you know this is about us?"

At the last word, Minghao throws him a look over his shoulder again, a small smile playing on his lips. Wonwoo lets it replay in his head: _us_. Something about it makes him shiver.

"It's kind of obvious," Minghao says, pouring a glass of water for Wonwoo, then one for himself. "Junhui never comes over this side of town without coming to see me, so he definitely didn't drop you off here. You're sweating and your breathing is a little heavy, so that's a clear indication that you walked." Wonwoo flushes at that, feeling oddly called out. "So it's obvious something is going on between you two. But, it's also clear you don't want there to be any hard feelings there, because," Minghao points at him, "you're wearing Junhui's jacket."

Subconsciously, Wonwoo grips at one side of the jacket, pulling it tighter around himself. It's the same one he wore the last time he visited Minghao. He wonders if Minghao had noted then too, that he was wearing Junhui's jacket. The thought makes his spine tingle.

"So," Minghao's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Spill. What happened?"

Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Minghao's eyes on him feel harsh, as though he can hear every thought moving through Wonwoo's mind. "I think I hurt his feelings," is all Wonwoo manages to get out, and he winces at how pathetic he sounds, but Minghao's eyes feel heavy, holes burning into the side of Wonwoo's head.

"Hurt his feelings how?" Minghao straightens up and Wonwoo watches as his eyes soften, his voice becoming that little bit gentler as he speaks. "I never would've thought it possible for you to hurt Junhui's feelings."

Wonwoo purses his lips, swallowing thickly. "I think I gave him the notion that I don't trust him."

"And do you?" Minghao raises an eyebrow. Wonwoo looks at him questioningly. "Trust him, I mean." Minghao adds.

Wonwoo pauses for a moment, "Of course."

"You hesitated," Minghao points out. He waits for Wonwoo to reply. He doesn't. Minghao sighs, "I know, for a fact, that you trust Junhui more than anyone else in this world." Wonwoo meets his eyes, silent, pleading. "And I could've been sure Junhui knew that too." He fixes his eyes on Wonwoo's again. "So clearly something has went through his head to make him believe otherwise, or you have something you need to explain to me."

Minghao's right, Wonwoo knows. He does have things he needs to explain, things he needs to talk about and things he's needed to talk about for the past six years. He has thoughts that've kept him awake longer than avoiding his dreams have, and feelings that course through him like sparks of electricity and come pouring out of him in the form of tears cried in the middle of the night. He's needed to let these things out, but there's always been one thing blocking his path: _fear_.

Wonwoo draws a deep breath and it shakes on the way in, doesn't feel like it gives him the ability to breathe. He tries again, words formulating in his throat and they try to crawl back into their box, hide away in the back of his mind. He needs to say them. He can't keep locking them up anymore because he knows eventually they'll get out and end up doing more harm than good.

"I can see the future in my dreams."

Somewhere in Wonwoo's mind, he hears a box open, the lock clattering to the floor. It feels ghastly.

Minghao hums, "Elaborate on that, if you don't mind." His words are gentle, prompting, but they aren't judgemental. Wonwoo feels his shoulders relax.

"I see things in my dreams. Either it's things that end up happening in the future, or other times I see things as they're actually happening..." He trails off at the end, hesitating. "Like my mother dying."

Minghao remains silent. Wonwoo looks towards him, seeing him with his lips pursed tightly and there's something in his eyes that throws Wonwoo off-kilter. His eyes are gentle and the sympathy is clear as day, but by the looks of it, Wonwoo thinks he can also see the faintest hint of tears beginning to well in Minghao's eyes.

"Wonwoo, I'm so sorry." Minghao shakes his head, reaches out for Wonwoo's hand but doesn't grab it, simply waits for Wonwoo to take his if he wants. Wonwoo looks at him hesitantly, slowly reaching forward and placing his palm over Minghao's. The younger boy places his other hand atop Wonwoo's, his palms warm against Wonwoo's colder ones.

"Is this why you haven't been sleeping?" Minghao asks cautiously. Wonwoo nods, eyes falling sheepishly. He feels open — far more open than he's ever felt in front of anyone who isn't Junhui — and he's not so sure he likes it. He feels small, weak, but Minghao's hands holding his give him something to focus on other than that feeling. It feels strange opening up to someone who isn't Junhui.

"I try to keep myself awake as much as possible," Wonwoo informs, "because if I don't sleep, then I don't have to see anything happen and know I won't be able to change it."

Minghao hums, deep in thought. "Like astral projection?" He chews gently on his tongue before continuing, "When you watch things as they're happening, does it feel like you're there, but not _physically_?"

Wonwoo nods, "That's exactly what it feels like. It's like I'm watching it play out right in front of my eyes, but I'm— I don't know, a ghost or something? I can't reach out and touch anything, and I think I'm speaking but my voice just comes out as white noise."

"Like your words dissolve in the air?"

"Exactly."

Minghao nods, "I've experienced similar things before. Not to the extent you have, by the sounds of it." He takes a brief pause, "But I think I can understand why you would avoid falling asleep because of it."

Wonwoo doesn't reply, just lets Minghao's words sink into his mind. _He understands_. He doesn't think Wonwoo's insane and even more so, he understands. Minghao's words feel like a punch to the face and Wonwoo can't do anything but sit there in astonishment, all ability to formulate sentences drained out of him from a singular statement.

"I suppose Junhui knows about all this," Minghao asks, dragging Wonwoo out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Wonwoo clears his throat, "he's the only person I've ever told everything to."

A small smile curves Minghao's lips and it makes Wonwoo's stomach twist. He looks so _knowing_ , and Wonwoo would place his money on it that Minghao does know something, even if he himself doesn't have a clue.

"All the more reason to clear things up with each other," Minghao says. His lip twitches upwards, his smile growing that little bit more. He leans forwards in his chair, the movement making Wonwoo instinctively jolt himself backwards. "That's not all you're hiding, is it?"

Minghao's voice is so soft, so gentle and it makes Wonwoo's head spin. Now, he thinks almost certainly, Minghao does know. He can see inside his mind, holds a key for all those boxes that Wonwoo often tries to forget exist. Minghao knows, staring him down with a burning gaze and it feels like he's dragging the words out of Wonwoo's mouth, kicking and screaming.

"I have feelings for Junhui."

It comes out sharp, sudden and unintentional. Wonwoo feels his eyes widen, the skin on his face heating up and butterflies swirl in his stomach, nauseating. The words sink in slowly, the weight of a thousand sleepless nights crashing over him like a wave, pulling him under. Night after night he's spent repeating those words, chanting them like a mantra into the silence of his apartment. He'd say them over and over again, turning them over and tuning them until they sounded just right. When he speaks them now, to Minghao, his voice comes out strained, a tune played on broken strings.

The words dissolve in the atmosphere, each syllable separated and swallowed up by the night. 

They'll hang with the stars now.

Minghao smiles softly, but Wonwoo can clearly see he's biting back a wider grin. "I could've told you that the day I met you, Wonwoo." Wonwoo flushes an even deeper shade of red. Minghao laughs warmly. "But I'm glad you've finally said it. For your own sake."

Wonwoo sighs, feeling his face gradually beginning to cool down. "How should I go about this then? Apologising to him."

"Go see him. You'll know where to find him," Minghao smiles knowingly, friendly. "And if he isn't there, you should call him," he pushes himself to his feet and wanders through to the kitchen, his eyes meeting Wonwoo's as he passes. "I reckon he'd pick up."

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


As Wonwoo climbs the hill, he finds his mind is strangely empty. For the first time in what feels like forever, his thoughts have slowed: the raging storm finally passed, leaving him to bask in the aftermath and kick at the puddles left on the ground. Whenever they walked the hill together, he'd have Junhui's constant chatter to keep him distracted. Trekking to the top alone, swimming in silence and his sparse few thoughts, Wonwoo realises just how tall the hill actually is.

He also becomes painfully aware of the pounding of his heart, thudding hard inside his ribcage.

He reaches the top, slowing to a halt and doubling over to catch his breath. The air is chilly, night slowly creeping in as the sun inches its way to hide behind the horizon line. The sky is cloudy, dulling over that little bit more and Wonwoo has to admit he feels dampened at the current lack of stars.

"I thought you were never going to show."

Wonwoo feels his heart shudder in his chest, his breath catching in his throat and he raises his head so suddenly he could give himself whiplash. Junhui is sitting with his back to him, knees pulled up to his chest as he stares out at the city below.

Wonwoo stays frozen in place, a familiar feeling fizzing in his stomach. "Have you been waiting long?"

He hears Junhui hum. "Every night since."

Wonwoo inhales sharply, more audible than he would've wished and Junhui slowly turns his head to the side. "I came up here to think, watch the sky." He pauses, his head not turned enough for Wonwoo to see him fully just yet — but enough that he's landed with the silhouette of Junhui's nose and lips, moving against the sky as he speaks. "I hoped you'd be here."

No matter how hard he tries, Wonwoo can't ignore the surge of emotions sweeping through him. Whatever box Minghao opened has now spilled its contents and they're pouring out and rushing through his veins. He feels words bubbling in his throat, pushes them to the side but doesn't burst them, instead saves them for a time yet to come. He has to stop running from himself.

"Why did you disappear?" The words sound forced, a mirror of how they feel as Wonwoo pushes them out of his throat. He winces at the sound of his own voice.

Junhui hesitates, speaking softly, "Just thought I'd give you some space." He pauses again, "Didn't want to make things any worse for you."

"As if you could ever do that," Wonwoo hears himself say, takes a seat on the grass beside him.

A thick sheet of silence falls over them, a pang of tension buzzing in the air and it makes Wonwoo feel sick. He's never felt any kind of discomfort around Junhui, but now something is off, so prominent it looms around them like a shadow. He knows Junhui can feel it too.

"I don't want you to think you _have_ to talk to me," Junhui rushes out. "I didn't want you to feel like I was putting you on the spot or being overbearing, so I thought leaving you alone for a while would probably be best for you." He sighs heavily. He sounds tired. "I realised within minutes of walking away that was the stupidest decision I've ever made."

"And you've made a lot of stupid decisions."

Junhui sends him a sharp glare. Wonwoo feels his lips twitch upwards slightly, watches as Junhui's expressions softens. "I have made a _lot_ of stupid decisions in my lifetime." He huffs out a laugh, smiles and Wonwoo feels his heart warm slightly. "But I realised that one takes the cake." Junhui turns towards him, eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry. I missed you."

Wonwoo shakes his head, words formulating and disappearing before he gets a chance to say them. Junhui just gives him a pursed smile, laying flat on his back and staring up at the sky. Wonwoo's eyes follow his, and he sees the hints of a moon glowing from behind a blanket of clouds. In the back of his mind, he hears another padlock clattering to the floor, another box opening wide and letting its contents run free. There's a faint ache starting to spread through his chest.

He's the one who hurt Junhui. He's the one who feels too unsure of himself to just tell Junhui the truth, and for some reason Junhui is the one apologising. It should be Wonwoo. The lock is broken, the box open and too many words are racing around his mind, taunting him and he feels his stomach flip. _I missed you too_.

"Wonwoo," Junhui turns to look up at him and Wonwoo swears he can see galaxies in his eyes. "You're thinking too loud again."

Wonwoo swallows hard, gulping his fear back down before it all comes spilling out. This isn't the time, or the place, and he needs to work through these things with himself before he lets them out to anyone else. He sighs heavily, lying down beside Junhui. He closes his eyes, lets his head roll to the side and just breathes, listens to the sound of Junhui breathing and tries to match his pace to his.

It's just then he feels a droplet of water against his cheek, cracking an eye open to look up towards the sky. Soon, more and more rain is cascading down on them, and Wonwoo huffs in annoyance. Junhui's jacket doesn't have a hood. The sudden reminder that he's still wrapped up in Junhui's jacket makes his cheeks flush.

"Should we go back?" Wonwoo asks.

Junhui nods, picking up an umbrella from beside him that Wonwoo hadn't noticed was lying there. "Here," he holds it out for Wonwoo, shoving it into his hands when Wonwoo goes to decline. Junhui shakes his head, "I'm protecting my jacket, not you. Dumbass."

Wonwoo laughs, and it's so warm and bright and he feels butterflies fluttering around inside his stomach. "Fine," he glances over at Junhui, studying the cardigan he's wearing, which clearly does not have a hood either. "What about you?"

Junhui waves a hand dismissively, "I'll be fine."

Wonwoo hesitates, but soon puts the umbrella up, hiding beneath it from the rain. As they start their descent of the hill, he can't help but think the cardigan Junhui's wearing is oddly familiar. A brief glance down at his own attire brings a hot flush back to his cheeks and he feels that sparking in his fingertips again. Junhui is wearing one of _his_ cardigans.

Wonwoo hadn't even realised he'd taken it.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Wonwoo sits on one of the stools in the kitchen, eyes glued to the sky outside. He hears footsteps behind him, Junhui padding across the room to stand beside him, drying his damp hair. Wonwoo catches Junhui's reflection in the window and he feels his breath shudder on the way in. Junhui is dressed entirely in clothes fished from Wonwoo's closet, and something about seeing him like that, dressed entirely in _his_ clothes, makes Wonwoo's head spin.

He hears Junhui hum over his shoulder, "We should have tea or something."

Wonwoo hums in agreement, nodding. "Good idea," he pushes himself to his feet to check the cupboards, but Junhui is quick to push him back down onto the stool.

"You just sit down, I'll get it."

Wonwoo watches with a fond smile as Junhui throws the damp towel he used for his hair onto the floor. Junhui was never the tidiest person.

Wonwoo turns back to the window, subconsciously playing with his own fingers as he listens to Junhui busying around behind him. 

"We can drink this," Junhui says, causing Wonwoo to turn in his seat. He's holding the box of lavender tea that Minghao gave him. Wonwoo sucks in a deep breath, ready to argue but Junhui just motions zipping his mouth shut and Wonwoo can't help but smile as the words die on his tongue.

"You need some sleep," Junhui continues, and Wonwoo listens to the soothing sound of water being poured into the mugs. "Your eyes look like they might be swallowed up by your skull sometime soon."

"Glad to know I look striking as always," Wonwoo mumbles. Junhui laughs, sliding into the stool beside him and handing a mug to Wonwoo.

Junhui watches him carefully, "Before you screw your nose up at it, just try it. It's actually pretty nice." He takes a sip of the tea and Wonwoo just lets the steam waft up into his face, breathing in the smell of lavender. The plants on his windowsill are growing nicely, and Wonwoo is surprised he's managed to keep them alive for so long.

He hears Junhui gasp and his eyes flick up from his drink. Junhui stands from his seat, leaving his mug on the table and shuffling even closer to the window. "Meteor shower," he says, eyes wide in amazement.

A strike of fear slams through Wonwoo and he starts to panic, his breathing growing heavy. "That's tonight?" His voice is strained, his words broken and Junhui looks at him with concern in his eyes. Wonwoo looks back at him with alarm written all over him. "Someone di—"

He's stopped by Junhui's finger pressed to his lips, Junhui shushing him calmly. Wonwoo narrows his eyes at him. The only thing his mind is able to focus on is the contact, Junhui's finger resting softly against his lips. He feels the skin on his neck begin to heat up.

"Not tonight," Junhui whispers. When Wonwoo looks into his eyes, he feels waves of emotion come crashing over him. A flurry of butterflies take flight inside of him. Junhui's eyes hold so much care, glistening with something Wonwoo isn't used to seeing there. "Not here, they don't."

Wonwoo's breathing is shaky, his chest rising and falling at a rate he's becoming hyperaware of. Junhui's eyes remain glued to his, so gentle and welcoming, like his arms are wide open and he's just waiting for Wonwoo to fall into them. He wants to. They hold something Wonwoo hasn't seen in them before, something he thinks he recognises but is too scared to put a name to. Then again, maybe he was never really looking.

Junhui's eyes flick downwards and Wonwoo's breath hitches in his throat. Their eyes meet again and this time, Junhui lifts a hand to cup Wonwoo's cheek. His palm is warm, soft as his fingers brush gently over the skin of his cheek.

"Wonwoo," he whispers, his voice like velvet in Wonwoo's ears. He watches as Junhui slowly moves closer and his mind starts to buzz. But the feeling of Junhui's thumb stroking over his cheek is like an anchor and it pulls him back to reality, back to this moment and the sky they're sat beneath and the boy in front of him.

When Junhui kisses him, it feels like everything begins to fall into place.

A thousand moments that were all building up to this exact second; countless lifetimes lived and two fates woven together to form one. There's a point where two paths meet and they're standing in the middle of it, Wonwoo's hand clutching Junhui's shirt as he pours every ounce of himself into these few seconds.

He feels Junhui smile against his lips, "You're unbelievable."

Wonwoo pulls back, tilting his head in confusing. His chest is still heaving, but for a different reason now. "Elaborate," he huffs out between breaths.

Junhui smiles, "It took you six years to realise it."

"Realise _it_?"

Junhui laughs, "I've wanted to do this for six years," he leans in and plants another peck on Wonwoo's lips. Wonwoo stares at him with wide eyes, in complete disbelief.

"You too?" Wonwoo's voice trails off, swallowed up by the silence around them. Junhui's smile is still radiant, still blinding and he cups Wonwoo's cheeks again, squeezing his face between his hands before dropping them back to his side. Wonwoo watches Junhui turn away, looking back out into the sky.

"Make a wish," Junhui says softly. Wonwoo turns to follow his eyes, watching as tiny flecks of light hurtle through the sky. He closes his eyes, draws a deep breath and thinks. He thinks about the past, the days when they first became friends, the times they spend hiding away from responsibility in each other's company. He thinks about now, the steps they took to get them to where they are now, the changes they felt and Wonwoo realises just how much time has passed between then and now.

He cracks open an eye, looks at Junhui, whose hands are clasped and eyes squeezed shut as he seemingly makes his wish. Wonwoo smiles, thinks about Junhui and the one particular box that remains locked inside his mind. He closes his eyes, makes his wish, and hears the lock begin to release and sees the contents slowly swim to the surface.

Wonwoo feels the sparking in his fingertips stronger than ever, his heart hammering in his chest and he hears it thudding in his ears, feels his pulse as it pounds in his wrists and neck. He's seen them — seen the two of them, laying side-by-side in his bed, his hands curling in Junhui's hair as he kisses him. It's slow and passionate and deep, and Junhui's hands are planted on his waist, holding him tightly. He woke up and pushed the memory of the dream to the back of his mind, locked it in a box and threw away the key. Now, everything is coming back around, full circle.

 _It's now or never_.

"Junhui," his voice is shaky, dancing over a thin sheet of ice and he feels like it's ready to break. Junhui turns, their gazes meeting and Wonwoo pauses for a second, forgets how to breathe and falls right into his eyes. "I have something I want to say," he takes a deep breath — something he _needs_ to say.

"Go ahead," Junhui prompts, resting a hand on Wonwoo's knee. "I'm listening."

Wonwoo nods, exhales shakily and Junhui just squeezes his knee, rubs his thumb back and forth comfortingly. Wonwoo feels himself relax.

"I think," he closes his eyes, can't continue to speak if he keeps his eyes on Junhui any longer. "I'm in love with you."

When he says love, he whispers it, like it's a curse, a thing that should never be spoken of. He whispers it because he's afraid of what it means, and there is no _think_ about it. He knows he's in love with him — has known for almost six years now — but he's never truly accepted that within himself. But with the lock gone, the box open, his feelings are free to flow through him like a stream. It's more than terrifying, but they needed to be set free.

Wonwoo thinks about how the words sounded as he spoke them aloud, thinks about how they slipped off his tongue after holding on for six years. He's spent more nights kept awake by those thoughts than he ever has with his dreams, the concept of love much more daunting that anything he could ever see when he closes his eyes.

He finally lifts his eyes, sees Junhui biting back tears and his mouth falls open, ready to say something, _anything_ , but any words he can fathom simply die on his tongue.

He jolts in surprise when his back hits the window, Junhui's lips pressed tight against his. He can feel Junhui's tears against his skin, reaches up to wipe them away and runs a hand through Junhui's hair, the other wrapping around the back of his neck. Junhui exhales against his lips, moves back just to press their foreheads together. His hands find Wonwoo's shoulders, wrap about them and he pulls him flush against him, a sob falling from his lips as he hugs him tightly.

Wonwoo wraps his arms around Junhui's waist, draws swirls on his back with his fingertip. Another sob falls from Junhui's lips.

"Junnie?" Wonwoo is taken aback by how soft his own voice comes out, and the nickname slips without him registering it. "Why are you crying?"

Junhui sniffles, hands gripping the back of Wonwoo shirt like his life depends on it. Wonwoo feels Junhui's chest rise, pressing against his, feels Junhui's breath as it fans against his neck. Junhui lets his head droop, forehead resting on Wonwoo's shoulder.

"Overwhelmed," he mumbles, voice muffled against Wonwoo's shirt. He turns his head, presses a gentle kiss to Wonwoo's neck and whispers into the skin, "I'm in love with you too."

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Should anyone take a walk through Wonwoo's mind, they would have stumbled across row upon row of boxes, all aligned perfectly and stacked neatly. Some boxes were smaller, the size of a jewellery or trinket box, others much larger trunks that were pushed farthest to the back. Wonwoo would say the larger the box is, the more it contains — more memories, more emotions, more of _him_.

The bigger boxes were all padlocked shut, no key in sight. Wonwoo has the key, somewhere he'll never tell.

When he spoke to Minghao, he felt the boxes begin to shake, contents fighting to get out. He tried to push them back in, hold the lids shut, but the clawing was consistent and the hinges can't hold out forever.

Speaking to Minghao allowed many things to break free: fear, anxiety, self-esteem. All the things he kept hidden away from prying eyes, only ever gazed upon by himself. Junhui had caught glimpses of these things, many a time. A fleeting second where Wonwoo's walls would begin to crumble and Junhui would peer through the cracks, see the rawest parts of him. By nightfall, when he was out of Junhui's sight, Wonwoo would box it all back up again.

In his mind, the biggest box was white, polished and it sat snugly tucked away in the deepest parts of his thoughts. The lock was gold, shone tauntingly whenever Wonwoo looked at it. The hinges appeared brand new.

Though, when he looks at it now, they're broken, as though worn by time and the many years that have passed. When Junhui spoke those words, they were like acid on the metal, burning through until the box flew open, everything Wonwoo had kept confined spilling out, overflowing.

He thought he would be more scared, now, as he stands looking out over rows of boxes lying wide open, unhinged secrets finally allowed to fly free. He smiles to himself, feels a newfound warmth spreading from his chest.

He watches as the boxes slowly start to disappear, vanishing into thin air. Row upon row, they fade away right before his eyes, ghosts passing over to another side. Once they're all gone, he breathes a sigh of relief. Never before did he imagine he'd ever be standing here.

As the lights begin to dull, the air starting to cool, Wonwoo watches as a single red rose grows in the centre of the space.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


"I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed," Junhui says, glancing over in Wonwoo's direction.

He's sitting with his eyes closed, the car window rolled down, an arm thrown over the back of the chair as the wind blows through his hair. His lips curve into a smile and he turns to look at Junhui, throws him a bright grin and settles back into his previous position. He hears Junhui chuckle.

"It's nice seeing you like this," Wonwoo can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. "It gives me peace of mind, you know."

"And you never had peace of mind before?"

"No!" Junhui snaps, but there's no bite to it. He sounds exasperated, above all else. "I spent every day worrying about _you_ , how could I have true peace of mind?"

Wonwoo hums, feels the breeze against his skin and sighs. "You never complained much to me."

"You had enough to worry about," Junhui's voice grows softer, more calm. "The last thing I ever wanted to do was load more shit on top of what you already had going."

Wonwoo looks at him, expression sincere. His words are gentle when he speaks, "I'm sorry for putting you through that."

He can't help but think about those two words, how easily they're beginning to roll off his tongue. A few weeks ago, they would've been wedged in his throat, never quite getting out no matter how much he tried to scream. But he's learning now, coming to terms with the things he's been running from for so long.

"Don't you apologise," Junhui says sternly, eyes fixed on the road. "You have nothing to apologise for."

"Sorry," Wonwoo mumbles.

"Wonwoo."

"Sorry for saying sorry," he giggles. A smile spreads to Junhui's face. He looks so serene. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, he slows the car, prodding Wonwoo in the shoulder and earning a sharp "ow" in response.

"Do you want to stop here for the picnic?" Junhui asks, nodding out the window. Wonwoo follows his gaze, a gasp falling from his lips as he sees the area Junhui is pointing to.

The field is huge, stretching out for miles of lush green grass and various types of flowers sprinkled haphazardly. He feels his head start to spin: this is the field he always dreamed about as a child, the first ever psychic-type images that ever appeared in his head. 

He grimaces at the word. _Psychic_. Something about it feels surreal to him, even though he knows that's the best way to explain what happens in his mind.

"Come on," Junhui pulls him from his thoughts, leaning over him and pushing the car door open for him.

Wonwoo gives him a deadpanned look, "I could've done that myself."

Junhui shrugs, grinning, "Is it so bad that I want to be a gentleman?"

Wonwoo snorts, "There's nothing _gentleman_ about you."

They fetch their stuff from the boot of Junhui's car, and Junhui leads the way into the field, skipping off through the grass. Wonwoo smiles fondly, a feeling he's growing increasingly familiar with bubbling in his stomach. He watches Junhui come to a halt, lay a gingham blanket — that he _insisted_ on buying, specially for the occasion of picnics — across the ground, and plop himself down atop it.

Wonwoo sits down beside him and Junhui scoots in closer to his side, warmth radiating from him and Wonwoo smiles, flicks him in the forehead and laughs at Junhui's pained expression.

"You're so _mean_ ," Junhui whines the last word, letting his weight fall against Wonwoo. Wonwoo loses his balance and his whole body tips to the side, Junhui laughing loudly in his ear as he goes down with him. 

Junhui rolls to the side, his head landing in Wonwoo's lap. He smiles up at him, eyes crinkled and sparkling and Wonwoo feels a wave of pure adoration come crashing over him. "Hi," Junhui grins, giggling.

Wonwoo puts on a scowl, glares down at him. "Hi."

Before he can say anything else, Junhui's hands are wrapping around the back of his head and pulling him down to kiss him. It's soft, sweet, and Wonwoo basks in the calmness of the moment and the feeling of Junhui's lips and the taste of his water melon lip balm.

Junhui pulls back and makes a popping sound with his lips. "You taste like chocolate."

Wonwoo flushes a deep shade of red, as though he hadn't just been thinking about what Junhui's lips tasted like. "I had hot chocolate before we left," he stutters out, rubbing the back of his neck which now feels red hot.

Junhui hums, "Cute," before pulling him back down again.

Wonwoo never imagined this is how his life would go. He never imagined that the fields he saw as a child would become a favourite spot for he and Junhui to hide away, escape the city for a while. He never thought he would be explaining the dreams of this field, and have Junhui coo at him because " _baby Wonwoo was magic too!_ ", and he especially didn't imagine ever falling asleep amongst the colourful flowers as the stars danced overhead.

As he lays with his head on Junhui's chest, he lets Junhui's words replay in his head. _Magic_. He thinks about it for a while, turns the word over and whispers it to himself, testing how it feels on his tongue. He smiles to himself, closing his eyes and falls asleep there.

 _Magic sounds like a good word to sum up how he feels right now_.

  
  
  
  


☽

  
  
  
  


Sometimes Wonwoo still wakes shaking and crying, scarring images stained on the backs of his eyelids. He whimpers quietly, curls in on himself beneath the covers. But Junhui is there, presses against him and wraps his arms around Wonwoo's shaking body. He holds his hand, thumb stroking over the skin. He kisses his cheeks, and tells him it's okay, he's safe, it's just a dream. After so many years, a countless number of nights spent lying awake and seconds lost with nothing to show, Wonwoo realises that maybe it is okay, and maybe this is where fate has been leading him all along: to this exact moment and the man held in his arms.

  
  
  
  


|🌃||🌃||🌃|

  
  
  
  


Wonwoo sits atop Junhui's piano, a glass of wine held in his hand as he listens to Junhui play. A tune so soft, a melody made of feathers and clouds, angelic. Wonwoo can't stop the smile that curves onto his lips, a feeling so soothing coursing through his veins.

When Junhui looks up at him, it feels like the whole world stops, everything coming to a standstill around them. The seconds melt away and the sound of the clock ticking fades out to nothingness in the back of his mind. Junhui continues to play, fingers so familiar with the keys they glide so calmly, so freely and Wonwoo sighs at the sight of him.

He's twenty six now, and he's learned to appreciate the smaller things in life. Eight years have passed since the tragedy that changed his life, but each second from then onwards has brought him forward, leading him to this moment.

Junhui meets his eyes, smiling softly. "What?" He takes a drink of his champagne, placing the glass down by Wonwoo's side. The light of the moon spilling in through the panes of the windows pools on the floor, glowing so peacefully under the night sky.

Wonwoo smiles, all cool air and stars hanging in the sky. "I love seeing you play," he whispers. Junhui returns his smile, his much more sunny skies and the petals of a flower drifting to the ground.

"I love you," Junhui says, and Wonwoo feels the world shift, planets aligning somewhere in the universe.

A smile ghosts Wonwoo's lips. His eyes shine, Junhui's eyes sparkle. Wonwoo hooks a finger beneath Junhui's chin, tilts his head up as he leans down to meet him.

"I love you too."

They kiss beneath the night sky, love pouring from two souls as they twist and intertwine together, and Wonwoo thinks this really could be _magic._

  
  
  
  


☽

**Author's Note:**

> hhh i hope this was ok? at least
> 
> i hope anyone stuck in lockdown is doing alright and.. yeah. thank u for reading :] and making my struggles worthwhile
> 
> <3


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